


with your hand in mine

by euphemea



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Drabble Collection, Gen, M/M, ratings vary
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-12
Updated: 2021-01-12
Packaged: 2021-03-16 10:21:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 4,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28705089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/euphemea/pseuds/euphemea
Summary: moments in time, across universes, all leading back to you—a collection of drabbles posted to twitter
Relationships: Felix Hugo Fraldarius & Sylvain Jose Gautier, Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Kudos: 7





	1. sometimes you just wake up on a catboy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> sylvain discovers the cat he coaxed in last night is actually a cat shifter named felix. rated T.
> 
> written for [@eggyankee](https://twitter.com/eggyankee)!

Morning light creeps through the edges of Sylvain’s blackout curtains, beckoning him to face the new day. He curls further into his blanket, turning away from the sun. It’s too early to be awake. His alarm hasn’t gone off yet. It probably won’t for at least another half hour.

Sylvain reaches out to tug his pillow closer, to bury his face in it to block out the light, and his hand finds something warm and bony instead. 

A hiss, and the bony thing pulls back.

His pillow doesn’t usually do that. And besides, it should definitely be fluffy, if a little flatter than it used to be. Who’d want a hard pillow?

He reaches out again, and this time, Sylvain finds something soft and plants his face in it, humming contentedly. It’s a little lumpier than he’s used to, and there’s definitely a flat and uncomfortable space in the middle, but it’s nice and warm and comforting. He’ll worry about the weird shape later. 

“Tch. How long are you going to be asleep?”

Huh. The voice in his head doesn’t usually sound so surly. It’s usually closer to his voice, a bright baritone. 

“I said, wake up. I’m hungry.”

There’s a light swat against the side of Sylvain’s face, and he blinks, first one eye and then both. A face materializes above him, scowling. Bright amber eyes stare down, curtained by long, dark hair. Strange, sharp teeth bare accusingly, brighter and whiter than Sylvain would like. All in all, a beautiful face, if a little mean. Sylvain has no idea who this is.

He doesn’t remember bringing anyone home last night, and he’s not hungover, so there’s not much he can go on for how this stranger ended up in his room. There’s no mistaking that this _is_ his room, in his apartment. Behind the hot stranger, Sylvain can see his tapestry of Broadway posters. 

He vaguely recalls an obnoxious, black cat yowling on his neighbor’s balcony last night. Dimitri mentioned in passing that he was spending more time at his boyfriend’s place, and even said he’d be out for the weekend, so the cat had been screaming at nothing. Eventually, Sylvain took pity on the poor thing when it started to rain and coaxed it in through his window. 

He should probably check on the cat. But. Later.

Sylvain blinks again, staring blankly at the unfamiliar face hovering over him. Huh, hot stranger has some kind of nekomimi on. 

Sylvain closes his eyes, dropping his head back down onto his unusually lumpy pillow. His brain is being unexpectedly creative this morning. It’s not an unpleasant dream, just weird.

“Oi, wake up. And get off me.”

“Hrrrrrn,” Sylvain groans, pressing his face harder into his pillow. “Shhh, pillow, let me sleep.”

There’s a click of a tongue. “I am _not_ your pillow. Wake up!”

“What?” Sylvain whines. “It’s too early.”

There’s a firm pressure against his shoulders and an angry hiss, and Sylvain sighs. “Fine, _fine!_ I’m awake.”

Sylvain forces his eyes back open. The face reappears. It’s oddly close, and startling gold jolts him further awake. 

Now that he’s thinking about it, he seems to be resting on the stranger and not his pillow. On the stranger’s naked chest, to be precise. It’s not just the stranger’s chest that’s uncovered—he seems to be fully naked below Sylvain. But Sylvain’s still at least 80% sure he’s never seen this person before, let alone had sex with him.

Hot, now-angry stranger squints down at him. “Better. I’m hungry. Give me food.” The nekomimi—no, wait, cat ears?—twitch as he speaks. 

He’s about 80% on the wakefulness meter now, so sure he’s not dreaming, but reality is somehow still getting more bizarre by the second.

“Yeah, sure, whatever you—” Sylvain’s brain catches up, finally aware that there is a stranger in his bed, not one he invited in, and Sylvain clambers off, putting a safe distance between them. “Wait. How did you get in here? Who are you?”

“You let me in. I’m Felix.” Felix makes a face. “Never call me a ‘pretty pussy’ again.”

Sylvain doesn’t recall calling anyone that. The only reason he’d say that is—

Sylvain balks. “Are you—are you Dimitri’s cat?”

Felix’s nose wrinkles again. It’s disturbingly cute.

“I’m not Dimitri’s anything. I just needed to talk to him.” Felix looks haughtily at Sylvain, like he’s being stupid. Like this isn’t the strangest fucking thing that Sylvain’s ever dealt with.

“Right… ”

Felix huffs. “Yes, I am the cat you rudely pulled in here last night.”

“It was raining!”

“Rain isn’t going to kill me.”

“You looked like you were crying.”

Felix pauses, his ears tinging red, and turns his head away. “Shut up.”

“I mean, I’m not gonna press you, but I’m here if you need to talk about it, I guess? Just don’t, you know, trash my place or anything.”

“Whatever.”

Felix’s eyes roam the space in Sylvain’s bedroom, pausing twice on the Broadway posters and once on the books stacked on his nightstand. His nose wrinkles at the titles. Sylvain lets out a quiet laugh—he’s not ashamed to be caught reading classical philosophy.

Felix’s hands knead against the mattress as he takes in Sylvain’s odds and ends, the disgruntled crease between his eyebrows fading the longer he works at his task. Loudy, out of nowhere, Felix’s stomach gurgles and he flushes.

“Hungry, huh?”

“Yes. Fuck you. I told you that already.” Felix glares at the wall of posters, but his eyes once dart toward Sylvain. “Are you going to make breakfast or not?”

“Yeah—yeah, sure. Just give me a moment.” Sylvain stretches, cracking his neck and back. “I’m… still trying to take this all in.”

Felix lets out a small, disgruntled _hmph_ , his ears flicking and his tail—Goddess, he has a tail, how did Sylvain not _notice_ that—swishing back and forth. Felix apparently decides that he’s had enough waiting around, because he climbs off the bed and leaves, stalking off still buck-naked.

Sylvain’s got to find him some clothes. He might need to ask Mercedes for sewing tips on how to deal with a tail. 

There’s a distant clattering and a call. “Which drawer are the knives in?”

Sylvain scrambles off the bed. “Alright, I’ll make you breakfast!”

Keeping a cat is going to be even more of a hassle than he thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [twitter](https://twitter.com/euphemeas)


	2. to each their own duty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> childhood flash fic, sylvain-centric, rated G

Felix comes to him, drenched in tears, screaming about the injustices of the world. Dimitri can't play with him, Felix cries, and Glenn is mean. He’s lost again, because Glenn is bigger and older and better-trained. Each loss is monumental to Felix, another stab wound he cannot heal. 

So Sylvain offers him a hug and reads to him from his book, even as Felix's eyes glaze over, because really, who cares for the blandest retellings of history and what Sylvain’s grandfather’s grandfather accomplished while wielding the Lance of Ruin? The dry records are a far cry from the legendary tales Felix insists he doesn’t love and won’t let anyone but Glenn read to him.

Soon enough—all too soon—Felix’s breathing evens out and he stands, intent on finding Dimitri again. Dimitri _must_ be done with his tutoring by now. And if not, maybe Felix can sit with him. He wants to learn whatever his prince is learning anyway.

The urge to follow Felix and chase down the other children rises as Sylvain watches Felix’s back retreat into the distance, but after a breath, it passes. No, that isn’t where he’s needed. Not where he’s wanted.

Sylvain’s eyes drop back to his book and he starts again, committing to memory the lessons of his family’s past and the duty he will one day bear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [twitter](https://twitter.com/euphemeas)


	3. you look like an idiot in that dancer costume

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> sylvain shows off to the class after winning the white heron cup, much to felix's chagrin. rated T.

Sylvain looks… ridiculous. He looks absolutely ridiculous. Like some kind of edgy, human maypole, complete with useless, ornamental, gauzy fabrics. 

Garreg Mach might call it a dancer uniform, but Felix knows better: it’s an outfit that someone gave up on halfway through putting together. Why else would it cover so little? Why else is it strip after senseless strip of functionless fabric? And what little isn’t bared is covered so tightly it might as well be. Every outline is an assault on Felix’s eyes. And that isn’t the worst of it. For who knows what reason, Sylvain has decided his uniform should be red and black. Like he’s dancing to seduce the reaper. Knowing Sylvain and his track record, it’s not an impossibility.

Sylvain turns in place, stepping through the most complex steps of his choreography. 

As Sylvain stands, the uniform’s undershirt is taut and obscene across his chest and arms, rippling with every step. The movement draws Felix’s eyes down Sylvain’s torso to take in the strong outlines of his calves and the taper of his waist. For a moment, Felix braces himself for the shirt to shred and fall away to the floor, leaving Sylvain half-dressed in the weak evening light of their classroom as he shows off to all their classmates. Felix can almost see the outlines of abdominal muscles and nipples bursting forth through the dark fabric. 

Every piece of that outfit is probably a hand too narrow because it was clearly sewn for someone of Felix or Ashe’s stature. Not that Felix is small or dainty—he has a normal physique, well-toned and well-trained, but without any kind of unnecessary mass. It doesn’t matter if Felix’s muscles don’t bulge; he defeats every opponent tossed his way anyway.

Sylvain caps off the performance with a flourishing bow toward the Professor, and the rest of the class rolls their eyes. Sylvain relaxes onto the heels of his feet, and the shirt settles onto his body, no longer strained. Felix beats down the disappointment that rises in his throat. There’s nothing to be disappointed about. It’s fantastic that Sylvain’s didn’t make a fool of himself and end up unclothed in their classroom. There’s absolutely no reason for Felix to have desired any other outcome.

Sylvain stretches, sensuous and expansive, and the shirt rides up slightly, offering a brief glimpse of freckled skin. Felix’s eyes track the movement, but it’s gone in an instant. 

Felix kind of hates Sylvain in this moment. 

Of course Sylvain played it off when the Professor chose him to represent the Blue Lions in the White Heron Cup, saying that he’d just take it easy and use his status to pick up girls at the Ball. But he can’t fool Felix. Felix overheard him confessing to the Professor that he wanted to try and begging them for extra guidance. And now look at him. He’s won, beating Hilda and Dorothea. He gets to torment them all with hip sways and body rolls every time they go into battle. 

Felix can only hope it proves more distracting to the enemy than it does to their allies. 

Apparently inspired out of nowhere to flaunt his new status as dancer some more, Sylvain does another handful of steps, finishing on a twist that throws his ass in the boar’s face, adding in for Dimitri to lighten up. Felix represses a snort. The others chide Sylvain, and he promises to do the same for them on the battlefield.

Felix is almost certain that Sylvain’s dancing is going to be a bane for all of them. And—Sylvain crosses the room in several wide, sweeping steps, his legs and hips accentuated with every movement; Felix can’t stop himself from trying to commit the image to memory—worst of all for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [twitter](https://twitter.com/euphemeas)


	4. all quarantine and no felix makes sylvain a horny boy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> two months and counting into quarantine, sylvain is about to lose it if he can't fuck felix. rated E.

“Babe, I miss you so much,” Sylvain says, panting as he strokes himself, his grip frantic and tight. 

It’s nothing on the wet warmth of Felix’s mouth or the hazy, bliss-inducing pressure of his hole, but desperate times call for desperate measures. It’s been _so long_ since he’s had a chance to see Felix in person. The only thing that’s kept Sylvain’s libido from clawing its way out of his body and leaving him a dessicated husk is Felix’s willingness to respond in kind when Sylvain sends him pictures of himself, open and hot and _wanting_.

It had been _two fucking months_ of being good and being lonely, satisfied only briefly by masturbating to selfies of Felix’s abs and ass, as he tried not to dig further into his trove of Felix photos for fap fuel. It was a little better on the days when Felix was willing to entertain a longer phone call, but he kept being overwhelmed when Sylvain’s dirty talk turned into something gentler and more honest. Sylvain was so close to snapping—today, he thought, he could ask for a little bit more. 

Felix had been irritated when he first answered the video call, his glare adorable as he squinted into his phone. A trail of sweat dripped down his forehead, making its way toward his chin and probably lower to the floor. He’d been wearing a compression tank top, the black fabric clinging to his skin in a way that Sylvain could only wish he were there to peel off. Felix looked _good_ —he always looks good, always looks like an Adonis rising out of Sylvain’s horniest wet dreams, and today was no exception.

Even if he hadn’t been determined to get off before he’d called, seeing Felix on the other end would have sealed the deal.

“What? I’m busy,” Felix said, irritated at having his usual 4pm workout routine interrupted.

Sylvain smiled, halfway between a smirk and something soft. “I wanted to see your face. Missed you, Fe.”

Felix squinted further at that, taking note of Sylvain’s state of undress on the other side of the camera. He clicked his tongue in response. “And only my face, I’m sure.”

Sylvain laughed. “I wouldn’t say no to more of you, if you’re up for it,” he said, angling the camera down to where he was slowly beginning to stroke himself, his hand loose and casual against his half-hard cock. 

Felix growled, a slow scarlet climbing its way up his neck, irrepressible and all-consuming. A dull thunk had echoed through the call and the background had shifted behind Felix, the ceiling jostling as he rapidly made his way toward his own bedroom. “Stop that. You don’t get to touch yourself until I say you can.”

Sylvain let out a low whine but pulled his hand back, propping the phone carefully against his pillows to showcase his body as he sat and waited. 

Felix made short work of settling into his room and removing his clothing, stripping with far too much efficiency for Sylvain’s taste, the only sensuality in the motion Felix’s innate charisma, and the clothes rapidly fell away to somewhere on Felix’s floor. Sylvain made a note to remind Felix that laundry was a virtue—but later, after they were done.

Before they could even really get started Felix forced him to move the call to his laptop—the video quality was more reliable, and he could use both hands more freely, Felix argued. Sylvain acquiesced both points, and too many minutes later, Felix finally settled in, gaze hawk-eyed and dick notably interested as he finally allowed Sylvain to touch himself again.

Which devolved into where they are now: Sylvain fumbling the cap of the lube again, his hands already slick from his previous ventures into the bottle and his fingers growing increasingly more uncoordinated as he fights a losing battle against the arousal spiking through his veins. His bed is a tangled mess below him, his brain blind to anything but the sight of Felix laid out on the other side of the camera. Felix sits against sweat-drenched sheets, bright red from the shoulders up, arching into his headboard and letting out a hazy groan. 

Sylvain finally forces the cap open and lets a heavy drizzle of lube coat his hand, rushing to throw the bottle away and bury two fingers in himself again, the stretch far more pleasant now that Felix has forced him to slow down. He reaches deeper, probing for where he knows he’ll find that bundle of nerves, the other hand feather-light as it ghosts along his rock-hard cock.

Felix’s grunt echoes across the call and Sylvain blinks back to attention, staring into the bright LED of his laptop’s screen.

“I’m close,” Felix says, chest heaving. His hand moves in urgent strokes, and Sylvain watches, entranced, as Felix’s cock disappears and reappears through the top of his clenched fist. “Goddess, I wish you were here. Wish I could fuck you open, ram you into this shitty headboard, lay you down and feel you clench around me.”

“Ha-hah… I could say the same thing. Wanna touch you all over, kiss those pretty pink nipples, gonna eat you out and then fuck you nice and slow—”

Felix shudders, “ _Fuck_.”

“Y-yeah, me too. Me too, hah—,” Sylvain moans, loud and sudden, as he finally presses against his prostate. “Wanna make love to you, want you here, Fe, wanna suck your cock so bad.”

Felix lets out a shout, something that’s almost Syvain’s name, and then he comes, painting himself and the bed in messy white ropes. Sylvain says this every time, but it’s the most erotic sight he’s seen in his life. He almost wishes he were recording this so he could indulge in reliving the moment later. His own hand moves to tighten around his cock now that Felix has come, his hips thrusting erratically and uncontrollably, gaze still fixed on the sight of Felix coming down off his high, and—

The video freezes and the audio cuts out. 

Sylvain’s screen is stuck in a strange tableau of Felix’s post-orgasm for a long moment before the image drops away, replaced by a lazy loading circle. His computer’s camera light blinks once, twice, three times—before also stuttering to a halt.

“Wha—No, no, _no_.” Sylvain sobs, a sudden panic clawing at his throat. He’s torn, unsure of whether he should get up and fight his computer, or resign himself to a sad, Felix-less finish. 

His desire for Felix wins out, as it always does, and he heaves a beleaguered sigh, dropping feet to carpet and trudging over to the desk to shake his mouse. It does nothing, the spinning wheel of death still taunting him. Sylvain’s eyes flicker up to the header bar and he lets out a disappointed whimper as his fear is confirmed—his computer’s wifi is fucky again.

Next to the laptop, Sylvain’s phone blinks, and a chime sounds to announce an incoming text.

_Thanks. Going to shower. Don’t interrupt my workout again._

Sylvain lets out an exasperated groan, grabbing his phone and unlocking it with his less-lubed hand, the screen only slightly resistant to the action. He navigates seamlessly to his photo album, the action too familiar and very resigned, and he stumbles back, letting his knees hit the bed. 

His dick isn’t fully hard anymore, but he’s sure as hell not going to wait even longer to get off, and he rifles through the photos until he finds some choice ones of Felix’s ass that he took one of the last times they were allowed to be in the same place. 

With another sigh, Sylvain reaches down and begins stroking. 

He’ll just call Felix again later.

He can’t fucking _wait_ until this godforsaken quarantine is over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [twitter](https://twitter.com/euphemeas)


	5. seasons greetings and fuck off

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> christmas felix meets summer ingrid and summer sylvain in askr's summoning hall. rated T.

“What the fuck are you wearing,” Felix says, scowling at Ingrid and Sylvain. 

“What are _we_ wearing, what are _you_ wearing?” Sylvain asks, gleeful. 

He doubles over in laughter and Ingrid sighs, bringing a hand to her head. 

“I did not choose this,” Felix replies, stiff. 

Sylvain laughs _harder_ , the fucker, and Felix resolves to use him for target practice later. He turns to Ingrid and represses the urge to stab Sylvain with one of his reindeer-tipped arrows. 

“I expected… _this_ ,” he waves at their scant clothing, “from him, but I thought better of you, Ingrid.”

Ingrid winces. “The Professor thought it would be good for all of us to get out from the monastery for a bit, a few months back… We never thought we’d end up here instead. No clue how we’re supposed to go home, either.” She crosses her arms. “Though you really don’t have space to criticize, dressed like that.”

“I _said_ , this was not my choice.”

“Man, I need to know who got you to wear that.”

There’s a sudden weight across Felix’s shoulders. He jolts before clicking his tongue and shrugging Sylvain off. He hadn’t even noticed that Sylvain stopped laughing. 

“None of your business.”

“Felix,” Ingrid says, mirth creeping into her voice, “do you really want us to believe that _you_ had nothing to do with how you’re dressed?”

“I had nothing to do with it.”

“You’re wearing your belt.”

“The garter one,” Sylvain adds unhelpfully. Felix jabs an elbow into his gut. He smirks as Sylvain lets out a pained _oof_.

“That wasn’t my choice.”

Ingrid’s eyebrows creep upward. “The jacket even looks like the one you had made last year.” 

“That _wasn’t_ my choice,” Felix repeats, through gritted teeth. “It was given to me like this.”

“Someone knew exactly what kind of clothing you like, down to your weird belts, and tailored a seasonal costume specifically for you?” 

Ingrid’s disbelief is reaching offensive levels. “ _Yes_.”

“Felix, buddy, there’s no need to lie to us.” Sylvain’s arm is back, this time with his elbow propped on Felix’s shoulder. “We’re all friends here.”

“For the last time, I had nothing to do with this clothing! Do you think I would have chosen to be trapped in this ridiculous getup for Goddess knows how long?”

“No, but it’s not actually that hard to talk you into doing things. I bet whoever gave this to you told you it made you look cool,” Ingrid says.

“It’s definitely his style, isn’t it?” Sylvain agrees, glancing over his frankly absurd orange-tinted glasses to sweep down Felix’s body. He plucks at the string holding Felix’s hat in place. “They really made sure he wore it.”

“The asymmetry helped.”

“Yep, for sure.”

“I loathe you both,” Felix hisses and he whirls around, turning toward the exit. One of the horns on his bow smacks Sylvain and the bell at its top tinkles in response. 

“Hey!” 

Felix ignores him and leaves. He does not stomp, but his boots click loudly against the stone tile.

He hears Ingrid snort behind him. “Let him be. If he gets hungry, the only food he has is that candy cane. He’ll have to find us soon enough, he doesn’t know where the dining hall is yet.”

“Oh, true,” Sylvain says. He calls out, “Felix, you’ll like the meat pies they have here! So much better than the food back in Faerghus.”

Felix throws them a middle finger over his shoulder. Their laughter follows him out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [twitter](https://twitter.com/euphemeas)


	6. the point is to let them hear you, you know

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> friends with benefits, sylvain and felix try to drown out felix's neighbors. rated E.
> 
> inspired by [@avarice017's art](https://twitter.com/avarice017/status/1316939765380452353)!

Letting Sylvain talk him into sex on his couch was a mistake. Felix can’t even tell if the neighbors are still going at it upstairs over the rush of blood in his ears. He definitely can’t hear the movie they’d left on. 

Sylvain had been, unfortunately, too convincing in getting Felix under him right where they’d started. It’s closer to where the neighbors are. They’ll get the point better. He laid Felix down and started slowly peeling off his clothes, his gaze setting Felix on fire, his touch leaving goosebumps in their wake.

Felix yanked him down for a kiss just to have an excuse to close his eyes.

At some point, Felix had been coherent enough to bite out that he didn’t keep lube in the living room and that if Sylvain wanted to continue, he’d have to get off. Sylvain had the gall to _laugh_ at that. He continued kissing his way down Felix’s torso, stopping only to bite and lave over a nipple until Felix let out a moan. 

“You can do better than that,” Sylvain teased.

Then a slick finger probed at Felix’s hole and he got it.

Why did Sylvain have lube in his jacket? Fucker. 

Right now, Felix can _feel_ Sylvain’s stupid smirk around his cock. He’s swallowing it down like he’s trying to suck Felix’s soul out through his dick. He’s got one hand gripping tight at Felix’s waist, pinning him into place, and the other buried three fingers deep in his ass, very pointedly avoiding Felix’s prostate. 

Felix wants to kick him to get on with it. He would kick him, if he were in any state to control his own limbs. 

“ _Haah_ —how much longer are you going to be down there?” Felix bites out.

Sylvain pulls back and looks at Felix consideringly. “I’m not sure your neighbors have gotten the point yet. You haven’t been very loud. What if they haven’t heard you?”

Felix feels his face heat up. “Fuck you.”

Sylvain pulls his fingers back to tease at Felix’s rim, and Felix clenches around the emptiness reflexively. “There’s always next time for that.” 

“Fuck you,” Felix repeats, panting. “Hurry up.”

Sylvain slows down until he’s not touching Felix at all. He looks at Felix, almost disappointed. “If we don’t put on a good show for your neighbors, they’re not going to remember.” He leans down to let his breath ghost against Felix’s ear. “We should make sure they remember.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be helping me make them remember?” Felix reaches up to grip Sylvain’s cock through his pants. He’s hard and hot against Felix’s palm, and Felix wants nothing more than to get him out of his clothes. Why is he still in his clothes? Felix is naked and fucked out on his couch, and Sylvain’s only lost his shirt. That’s not even remotely fair.

Felix tightens his grip, feeling a little vindictive, and he strokes upward. Sylvain lets out a choked gasp, and Felix smirks up at him.

“You can do better than that,” Felix parrots at him. “Let the neighbors hear.”

Something snaps in Sylvain at that, and his gaze darkens. He pulls Felix’s hand away, his grip tight enough against Felix’s wrist that he’s sure he’ll have finger-shaped bruises in the morning. He can’t wait. 

Sylvain drops Felix’s hand and stands. He undresses himself, slow and sensual. It’s somehow hotter than when Sylvain was busy sucking him off. Felix shouldn’t be this turned on. He can’t help but stare at the way Sylvain’s muscles stretch as he steps out of his pants, and his mouth waters at the hard line of Sylvain’s cock. He inhales audibly when Sylvain finally rolls down his underwear and straightens, finally free of his stupid clothing. 

Felix needs Sylvain in him. Right now.

Sylvain climbs back over Felix, boxing him in and lining himself up. He barely hears Sylvain speak over the pounding of his heart. 

“I promise, I’m going to make you _scream_.”

And, _fuck_ , Felix does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [twitter](https://twitter.com/euphemeas)


End file.
